


A Quick Visit

by Mackem



Series: Imaginary Advent Calendar 2012 [3]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 05:24:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mackem/pseuds/Mackem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are thousands of planets with themes. It stands to reason there'd be a Christmas one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Quick Visit

**Author's Note:**

> Every year, I write what I call my Imaginary Advent Calendar, where each day until December 25th I open another day of an advent calendar that doesn’t exist and write what I picture various people or characters in different shows/fandoms/books in a holidays context. This year I’ve challenged myself to write a ficlet for every day. See Vicky panic! They’ll be in various different fandoms and pairings, and won’t be particularly long (except the ones that eat my brain). Enjoy! X!

"Is there a Christmas planet?"

"What?" Donna can tell The Doctor is only half-listening, mostly because he's buried up to his waist in the innards of the TARDIS. He’s set a tool box close enough that he can reach out and blindly grasp gadgets to use on the complicated wiring of the console, seemingly at random. He’s even got a special trolley he’s lying on and using to slide underneath, his gangly legs sticking out like a mechanic with a ridiculously impractical uniform.

"You know. I know there are themed planets. Like with that cat planet,” Donna frowns. She had not been overly fond of the cat planet, whatever its name had been. There wasn’t enough antihistamine in the universe to stop her allergies playing up faced with an entire planet of cats, all of whom had been distressingly fond of The Doctor. She had forced him to have his suit dry-cleaned, after, once he‘d accepted that the lingering smell was coming from _him_. “Like that one, only with Christmas?" 

"What? What are you talking about?"

She sighs, sits beside the console, grabs onto his ankles and _yanks_ , dragging him out from under it. He's wearing ridiculous goggles. She's not entirely convinced they have anything to do with TARDIS maintenance. "Christmas. Planet. Yes or no?"

"Oh! Yes," he says dismissively, and tries to slide back under the console. She keeps a tight hold on his skinny ankles.

"Is it good?"

"Good?“ he says, his face screwed up in distaste. “If it’s possible to describe an entire planet in one word, let alone a completely non-descriptive word like _‘good’_ , then...yeah. I suppose it is. Gets a bit tiring, after awhile," he offers with a sniff and a thoughtful scratch of his nose. His fingers are coated in grease, and now his nose is, too. She decides not to mention it. "Somewhere around the three-day mark. Usually _exactly_ the amount of time it takes for some bright spark to shout, “Encore!” just after they get to the final partridge in a pear tree of "On The Four Thousand Days Of Christmas"."

"Blimey. That sounds a bit much. I usually get sick of turkey by Boxing Day," Donna muses, before giving him an encouraging prod on the thigh. "C‘mon, then. Let‘s go."

"You just said -"

" - I _know_ what I just said. I’m the one that just said it! It doesn't mean I don't want to see it, does it? We'll just have a quick visit,” she decides. “We’ll make sure we don't overstay our welcome.”

"The thing about that plan is, it never seems to work for us, does it?" The Doctor says pointedly, but that childish grin of his blooms on his face soon enough. "You sure?”

“’Course I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be sure about a planet themed around Christmas?” Donna scoffs. “Presents? Over-indulging? Bucks Fizz for breakfast? What could there possibly be to _not_ be sure about?” The Doctor waggles his eyebrows at her.

“I should warn you; I have a bad habit of reading out jokes from crackers.”

“Ugh.”

“And _laughing_.”

“You would,” she scoffs. “I bet you wear the hats, too, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes! Of course! You’ve got to wear the hat,” he says, authority dripping from his words. “It’s not Christmas until there’s a paper hat and bad jokes.”

“No,” Donna says firmly, “It’s not Christmas until there’s mulled wine in your hand and a tin of chocolates on your knee and _It’s A Wonderful Life_ on the telly.” The Doctor nods.

“That is a good one. I cry, every time.”

“I bet _you_ could actually give somebody the actual moon, couldn‘t you?” Donna says thoughtfully, and the both of them crack up. The Doctor bounces upright, wiring quite forgotten, and works the controls with a shower of sparks.

“All right! A-wassailing we go! Turkey and sprouts ahoy!”

“Sprouts?” Donna scowls, and the Doctor’s face twists into a frown. “Sprouts have no place on a Christmas planet!”

“What? What?! It wouldn’t be Christmas without them!”

“Yeah, nothing says Christmas like cabbagey balls of misery,” Donna sighs, and the two of them share a look as the TARDIS kicks into life. Cackling, she clings onto the Doctor as the ground shakes beneath them. “It’s not Christmas without an argument, is it!”

“No, not with you around, I bet” the Doctor grins.

“Yeah, unlucky for you.”

“Unlucky? _Lucky_! I like having you around,” the Doctor beams. “Christmas is for family, isn‘t it!”

“Family?” Donna asks, and presses a wet kiss to his cheek when he blinks stupidly at her. “Oh, you beautiful, skinny idiot. ‘Course we’re family. Now,” she orders imperiously, and gives him a broad smile. “Get cracking and land me as near as possible to a good brandy sauce.”


End file.
